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Noël Ash

A one-day painting is an act of meditation. So briefly I pour myself into this tiny square, that each work becomes a bookmark in this day, this moment, this brief cast of sun and shadow. I find myself scanning the kitchen each morning, hoping for sun, examining detritus. These items are so personal; my favorite mug, my mother’s textiles, my leftover breakfasts. I see the patterns they reveal; My own obsession with citrus when the snow gets deep. The oversized sourdough mother I built up before our guests came. The dishes that didn’t get put away on a busy morning. The cup, the slanting light, the patterns and textures; these are my daily meditation, and at the end of the day either they are finished with me, or else I am finished with them. I never know which it will be until I get there.

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